


Venus As A Boy

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Cuddling, M/M, Scent Kink, gettin cozy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-21 08:10:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19998700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Crowley has taste for the finer things in life, like Aziraphale.





	Venus As A Boy

**Author's Note:**

> i love the idea of like, rough cuddling, and scenting, so i wrote this.  
> i have loved this book for a good part of my life and the tv series revitalized me, bless up  
> title comes from venus as a boy by bjork, which makes me think of crowley, bc not only is he pretty as hell but also, the lyrics apply just a bit too much...  
> nothing nsfw really happens, just some intense snuggles. Enjoy!!

Aziraphale likes Crowley.

He likes his eye for the finer things.

While Aziraphale has the tongue, so to speak, in his pursuit of gourmet delights.

But Crowley, he was just as hedonistic as the angel, just in a different way. 

Aziraphale remembers him eyeing bolts of fabric in a merchant’s stall in Venice, during the renaissance. So many new, creative textiles, and Crowley had run his fingers over a length of Genoese black velvet-

The effect was instantaneous. 

Crowley had been especially smug when they had dinner together the next week, donning his new velvet ensemble. The boots came up past his knees, embroidered with serpents and the vest trimmed with lace.

“A bit on the nose, my dear.”

Crowley had only grinned, and kicked Aziraphale under the table in good nature.

He was a hedonist, as much as Aziraphale, favoring touch over taste. The soft mink stole he bought before the Great Crash of 1929, the silk kimono gifted to him sometime in the 500’s (AD). These somewhat treasured antiques were stored carefully in hermetically sealed bags, and were easily the envy of any museum curator.

It doesn’t just apply to fabrics. The cool metal of the Bentley, the worn dials of its radio, and even Aziraphale himself.

The longer any celestial or occult being stayed inside of a host, a corporation, it fused like a rubber eraser to a plastic pencil case. Heavenly or demonic energy lighting up each cell and the spaces in between. Its what gave angels their divine aura, demons that thin veneer of maliciousness that surrounded them. 

Its effect wasn’t instantaneous, usually it took a few centuries for it to be truly felt. 

And much longer for anyone to really pick up on it, and the specifics that could make someone tell who it was, just by the sense of them being around.

As such, Crowley is very familiar with Aziraphale’s aura, and vice versa.

It’s only Crowley that really seems to get driven up the wall by it.

Or rather, drives Aziraphale up the wall about it.

In the literal sense.

Aziraphale really wouldn’t mind, if it weren’t for the fact it was cutting into the time it was taking to get acquainted with a lovely copy of the Oresteia.

Crowley has him pinned down on the couch, very effectively, Oresteia on the floor as his fingers lace with Aziraphale’s, face buried in the crook between soft shoulder and softer neck. 

Aziraphale sighs. “Crowley, my dear… is this quite necessary?”

“Quite,” Crowley groans against his skin, sunglasses discarded next to the leatherbound book, both forgotten as their respective owners give in to each other. 

It’s intimate, in a rough, animal way. 

Like beasts, almost, squirming and grinding, longing for more skin to skin contact. Aziraphale’s shirt is unbuttoned, and Crowley’s not even wearing one. 

The sensation of the angel’s skin on Crowley’s feels like static from a fuzzy blanket, fresh out of the dryer, warm and sweet scented. Aziraphale’s verbena-tinged cologne masks the scent of stinging cold air and pure water, ozone and sea foam. It makes Crowley shudder, and his whole body goes slack against Aziraphale as the angel squeezes his hands, and his thighs straddle bony hips. 

“Dearest… what’s gotten into you?”

“Just wanna be close-as close as I can-”

Aziraphale cracks a smile at that, and Crowley can feel his angel’s heart beat just a bit faster against his chest. 

“Oh, my dear heart…” Sky blue eyes flutter shut, and he tries to key in on Crowley’s essence.

Aziraphale can always sense it, much like Crowley can with his, but to really focus on it….

Crowley’s skin is more like the heat emanating off of hot metal, but once his fingers touch his skin, it’s like touching the barest illusion of snake scales, cool to the touch until Aziraphale breaks the illusion and gets at the real flesh and blood beneath. Smooth human skin.    
Aziraphale takes a deep, shuddering breath when Crowley sucks a bruise onto his skin. Like incense, too strong and heavy, blending with the scent of something humid and mossy. Watery, in the opposite direction of Aziraphale. His palms are sticky with sweat, Crowley is burning his metaphysical presence, almost, and the Principality inside responds by increasing the staticky feeling, suddenly there’s more fresh air coming through, and Crowley could choke on it and still beg for more-

They both remember themselves at the last second, and they laugh.

“You were getting ready for a fight, weren’t you?”

“Purely instincts, darling.” Aziraphale lets go of Crowley’s hand to run his fingers through his hair. Long, barely shoulder length and curling intricately, without a care in the world. When he takes his fingers away, he can feel Crowley press insistently against him, whole body bearing down in an attempt to get Aziraphale to keep touching him, to put his hands anywhere else, as long as he  _ touched him- _

Aziraphale complies, quite enthusiastically. Crowley is only wearing a velvet blazer, and he takes the liberty of unbuttoning it to expose the demon’s flat stomach. He can feel the muscles contracting beneath his fingers as Crowley shifts to make room between their torsos, and he runs his hands across his belly, then to his sides, before finally sneaking around to his back to trace delicate lines up his spine. Aziraphale hums as he touches each little bump, comprising that long series of bones.

Crowley almost purrs against his collar, and settles his face in the sweet dip in the middle of Aziraphale’s upper chest. His hands curl into tight fists, back arching up into the angel’s touch. The look on Aziraphale’s face is that of the cat who got the cream. 

The demon above him swears, hands slowly opening as he feels a flare of holiness run up his spine. It’s almost painful, but Aziraphale has sweetened the blow to be more on the side of pleasure than pain. He moans, and sags against the angel, his name slipping past his lips as he’s held tight.

“Good boy. There you are….” Aziraphale smiles gently as Crowley shudders and hugs him back just as tight.

Aziraphale uses one hand to comb his fingers through Crowley’s hair, and the other to pet him gently.

“After this, we should go out to lunch, I think. I’ve heard of….” Aziraphale’s voice trails off as Crowley’s thoughts sink into a pleasant haze, and he rubs his cheek against Aziraphale’s skin.

They’re both hedonists, and neither of them would want it any other way.


End file.
